


As It Spills

by LadySilv



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Angst, Child Soldiers, Dream is God of Power, Philza is Prime, Ranboo & TommyInnit Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo is Blood Champion, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Soldier AU, Technoblade is the Blood God, Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Twin Gods AU, god AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29893230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilv/pseuds/LadySilv
Summary: Lady Death, known to the voices as Mumza, watched from the perch she had over the worlds that surrounded her control. Everything was slowly coming into place. The forest she and her husband had created was trampled by fearful souls. Three shortly joined her realm only moments into the fight. It saddened her to see the beautiful forest to be soiled with blood that was later blessed in the name of the Blood God. With no choice, she turned to her husband to see him welcome the soldiers into the land he protected with his remaining life. The prophecy her oracles had written several eons prior was becoming to take effect. The end of the universe she had built was coming. Guilt settled itself deep in her stomach, but she knew she could interfere with what the Fates had planned for her masterpiece.Shaking her head, she closed the screen in front of her to turn and write a letter. The letter was etched in a gold ink that was a symbol of her. Signing it, she folded the paper into an elegant swan, feeding life into it and watching it shake and take flight to her husband. She could, at least, warn him of the impending dangers of the outside world.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 7





	As It Spills

The area was dense with fauna. Overgrown plants towered over the small company that was trying so desperately to escape the weirdness of the forest. Flowers bloomed along the vines that grew on these large trees. The canopy of the forest covered the floor from the sun, yet even the fauna on the ground seemed to survive without the sun’s glory. Roots stuck up from the floor, covered by large bushes waiting to trip an unfortunate soul. Even with the canopy, the forest was glowing with an odd magic that no animal or insect seemed to notice. Ants gathered the necessary supplies to grow their colony while birds chirped to their neighbors that only lived a few trees away. The forest was a beautiful oasis, unbothered by the society that it escaped.

Not one soul stopped to sniff the flowers or admire the beauty of the forest. Instead, the souls stuck in the forest were harbored with shallow breaths and fear in their eyes. The peaceful forest was quickly changed into a battle ground. The once beautiful plants were crushed underfoot as a squadron of soldiers ran. Their black boots crushed the flowers, which upon being crushed, emitted a small puff of red dust. Arrowheads lodged themselves into the bark of these trees with a whack. The poor souls only ducked, attempting to escape the death that awaited them from the arrows. The soldiers that had the chance to run had all dropped their weapons. Their own commander had been killed before they could issue an order. No time to admire the forest, these soldiers ran through the dangerous forest entering a seemingly odd area.

Behind this group was a mass of three hunters. These fighters were armed with bows, seemingly inferior to the squadron’s much powerful weapon, guns. Yet, these hunters had them running. They were clothed simply with leather boots, a loose fitting shirt, and pants that covered them from the exposure of the forest. What was the oddest addition to their clothing was the porcelain mask that hid their faces. Painted, or carved, into the mask was a smiley face that would commonly be seen on the keyboards of modern computers. However, over their clothes were leather armor strapped to their chest and legs. Their bows seemingly glowed with enchantments only few knew of in this world. Not one of the soldiers knew who these people were, only that they had killed two of their soldiers already. The guardians continued after the soldiers, two on land while another zipped from tree branch to tree branch. All of them wore an interesting sigil that the soldiers had not dared to glance at. After all, they were too busy trying to survive. The fighter paused on a branch, notching an arrow into the string of the glowing bow. He rested the staff of the arrow onto his middle finger. A deep breath came from the man, and on his exhale, he let the arrow fly.

A soldier yelped as an arrowhead embedded itself into the flesh of his shoulder. A victory cry was heard from behind the squad. The poor soldier attempted to continue on, but he never made it to the squad. Instead, the enemy stamped down on the soldier’s back with a leather boot. The soldier couldn’t see from the blonde hair that covered his eyes the man that held him down with a mere boot. However, he felt the cold metal of a sword being held at the base of his neck. Another pair of leather boots stood beside his head. He didn’t know which one started to speak, but the foreign language only went in one ear and out the other. He could only assume that they were discussing his fate. 

Once the voices had finished their talk, he felt the sword being removed from his neck and the boot being moved off of his back. He attempted to stand, muttering a small thank you before his head was rolling on the floor of the forest. The now headless body of the soldier collapsed next to the rolling head, lifeless and bleeding.

The notable thing the odd group of fighters said was merely, “Blood to the Blood God.”

\---

The soldiers that once were rushing to escape the tribal fighters found themselves taking shelter in an odd temple. They had only found it after they realized the fighters had stopped following them. The forest thinned with the flowers and fauna that once covered the floor of the forest thinned till the dirt floor was exposed. Continuing to walk, though still on their guard, the squad found themselves staring at a large temple of sorts. It stood tall, but not as tall as the trees that surrounded it. White walls stood as the main part of the temple with a beautiful purple accent. Vines grew down the side of the building, but in a controlled manner. A cobblestone wall stood on the side of the temple with a well taken care of garden behind it. 

After the discovery of the garden, the men stood on their toes, ready to meet more of the tribal people. They pushed open the large dark oak doors of the temple. Expecting to meet more screeching and yelling, they held the last few of their weapons up. Only two of the remaining five had their guns, while the other three held daggers. Instead, they met a welcoming fire within the large room. The room was filled with pews which was lined with purple seat covers. The room was bright with the roaring fire and white walls reflecting almost holy light into their eyes.

Recovering from the bright light, the soldiers laid their eyes onto the man that sat at one of the pews. The man stood, turning to face the men who had walked in. The first thing the soldiers noticed was the large wings that were attached to the man’s back. The wings were black like the night sky. They contrasted the white walls, separating the man from the brightness of the temple. When he turned, the man had a smiling face filled to the brim with warmth. The soldiers faltered, lowering their weapons slightly. The youngest of the crew stepped forward. His blue eyes were narrowed and his mouth in a thin line. What stood out most of this child soldier was the red bandana that he wore around his throat. The bandana stood out from the green camouflage clothes that the kid wore. 

The man’s smile did not falter. He only opened his arms, showing himself unarmed. The man wore a green and white kimono with a pair of wooden geta on his feet. The man seemed harmless with his big smile and odd clothing. Though, none of the soldier’s lowered their weapons entirely. However, every man faltered when they heard the man speak.

“Welcome to Church Prime...please lower your weapons and take off your armor,” the man spoke perfect common with a slight accent on his tongue. “The Holy Lands forbid any fighting or tools of warfare.”

The child soldier sputtered, braces showing finally as he attempted to argue with the odd man. “W-what? You want us to-to fucking take off our only protection after we were just  _ chased _ here? Fuck no!”

A hand was placed on his shoulder by another man, one much taller and older than the boy at the front. “Tommy, why don’t we just do as the man says. Besides, I don’t see any weapons or armor on him?”

The boy only sputtered and tried to argue with the older man. “Wilbur, we can’t just  _ trust _ this man off the bat. We just saw our entire squad get basically wiped out by three maniacs in that forest!”

The boy turned his back to the winged man, sputtering to the older man that stood behind him. He pushed off his hand, trying to challenge the man that stood behind him. They had, after all, lost their commander in the battle. There was no leadership in the squad. Now, they were just a group of motherless ducklings only to be killed once more by the hunters who were more than likely still on their tails.

But the winged man spoke again, “The Blood God’s men are not allowed in the Holy Lands. I forbade it. Please, I can give you sanctuary if you will dispose of your weapons there on the table.”

A table, unnoticed from before, was covered with a purple cloth and held a basin of water. The boys frowned, but lowered their daggers and guns onto the table. The motion only made the man smile brighter. Again, he turned around, lowering himself into a chest to produce a few bed mats and blankets. The man turned back around, placing the bedding on a table in front of the podium. Again, he turned and pulled out a few pillows as well. This confused the group. How did the chest hold so many items? Neither of the soldiers in the group dared to question the man who was seemingly protecting them. Instead, they moved forward. Their shoulders continued to carry tension and fear as they approached the man. 

“And why should we trust you?” another voice came from a man behind the two others in front of him. He stepped out, a pair of blue and red shades on his eyes.

“You simply don’t,” the man replied. “You should never trust anyone, especially someone you just met. However, I am an old man with no weapons on me. I cannot take on five of you, even without your weapons.”

That seemed to ease over the worries of the group. Still, they did not completely trust the man that stood before them. It was too much of a coincidence to be true. How could they stumble upon this sanctuary. Neither one of the soldiers wanted to trust the man, but they were still cornered. If they were to leave the clearing, the fighters from before were sure to finish them off. The man offered them shelter and bedding, even possibly a full meal, yet they were to trust him not to murder them in their sleep. It was a gamble and risk a portion of the group was unsure of taking. 

The feathered man knew already of the death of their friends. Their features read it easily. So, as the new adopted leader of the group approached him, he only smiled softly. “Prime sees all. Do not fret over your friends deaths, and, instead, train in order to not let them die in vain. Wisdom counters any attack if you can calculate their movements. You are welcome here in the temple for as long as you need. Dinner will begin at sunset with prayer afterwards. Training starts as sunrise. I expect you all to be there. An old man like me does not need to be waking you each morning.”

His lips twitched into another, but slightly smaller, smile. The old man was odd to the group, and no one trusted him. That he knew, as he knew all, but he knew what the books had said. The only way to free the world from the brewing war was to unite an already destroyed team of kids in order to bring together the two ancient gods. The texts were brittle but the ink never faded from its pages. A prophecy, that was a few eons old, had read very clearly the prophecy. The book laid open on the podium easy for the man to look over at the text that read on the brittle pages.

**_“Split between Blood and Power,_ **

**_A God’s true War will devour._ **

**_Blood’s Champion born in the enemies strands,_ **

**_Only to escape to the Prime’s hands._ **

**_The Angel of Death will guide,_ **

**_Prime’s chosen to destroy the Twin God’s pride._ **

**_War covers the Earth in Red,_ **

**_The Egg of Wrath is bred.”_ **

The winged man looked from the book to the collection of both men and boys that were presented in front of him. He closed the book that laid on the podium, watching the group make home upon the floors of the cathedral. Stretching his wings, he looked up at the stained glass windows. How the glass was already changing with the tides. Once purple glass now held new colors. Red beside green and yellow while an interesting blue and red were found next to a black and white piece of glass. He only smiled, seeing the glass match his own predictions. 

He held the copy of the prophecies to his chest, moving down the hall to his private quarters. He quickly made a mental note to clean up the barracks that he had created eons ago. Inside the room, he knelt down, placing the book onto a shelf that was placed against the backside of the room. Instead of raising up, he began to pray, hands folded lightly in his lap as the words flowed from his mouth. Though, the man did not pray to Prime. He whispered the prayer in honor of his Mistress, Death herself. The man only smiled in his prayer, continuing to pray rather than pray to himself. After finishing the simple and short prayer with an “amen,” he stood and collected himself before he made his way to the kitchen to prepare a dinner.

The meat from that morning’s catch is still laid in the cooler. He had already blessed it’s passage to the afterlife before he had removed it’s hide and started to cut the meat. As always, he never wasted a scrap of an animal. The deer’s entire body was used in some way or sort as there was no reason to let a part of such a graceful animal go to waste. He began to cook the meat, preparing a stew that would feed the entire squad he had. He hummed an interesting song of a nation that had yet to form. 

So the Angel of Death, also known as Prime himself, sat in the kitchen preparing a meal for the group his chosen. Oh how Lady Death blessed him that day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hahaha, look at me, starting another book. hahah, watch me scramble to write this.
> 
> Though, I am excited because I have wanted to write the DSMP in my vision for so long. I have been following canon for a bit, and I hate it. Let my headcanons come forth!
> 
> Some prominent headcanons are:
> 
> Mumza being the Mistress Death and Philza being her Angel of Death.
> 
> Philza being Prime.
> 
> Dream and Technoblade being a god which was split into two.
> 
> I also am adopting two AUs for this story: Gods AU and Modern AU.
> 
> This story is going to include a modernized feel. However, it will also have the idea of Gods and Demigods with their own pantheon and followers. Hence, the mask wearing followers who were hunting the soldiers. I won't reveal much yet until we get to the chapter where I do a bit of world building. I am excited to tell y'all my ideas!
> 
> Please don't expect regular updates. I am still working on Rebirth, I just can't keep writing with other ideas flooding my brain.


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